George's 90th

At 2.53pm on Sunday, when Ian Thorpe apparently made his decision to 'discontinue' swimming, Libby, Robbie and I were in Brunswick at George Atchison's 90th birthday party. We were nervous on arrival, shortly after the starting time of 2 o'clock, Lib and Rob because they had never met any of the people who'd be there, and I because I had never met the hosts, George's son Ken and his wife Mary, or seen any other family members for over 2 years. It was a terraced house that looked across Park St. into the 80 hectares of Royal Park. Prime real estate.
In my arms was a Cascade Premium Light stubby carton filled with lemons from George's sister Ida's old lemon tree in Gembrook, while Robbie carried a green enviro bag filled with small jars of silvertop honey. They were presents for George, but I knew they would be distributed to the other guests. Lib said the trousers she was wearing were too big round the waist as she'd lost weight recently, and she didn't bring a belt. It was a self conscious, embarrassed trio admitted by host Ken after we introduced ourselves.
My own trepidations disappeared entirely when George's daughter Glenda greeted me warmly and led me to George who was seated in the louge room and smiled warmly as he shook my hand saying it was good to see me. He was smaller and frailer than when I last saw him and his hair whispy and even whiter, snow white. Lib and Rob slowly relaxed as we met other guests, enjoyed savouries, and looked through two books that Glenda had compiled. One of these, complete with photos, traced George's life from childhood in Wonthaggi, his move to Melbourne as a teenager after his father died, his working life at John Danks and Sons, his sporting interests, family life, and the six years in the army during WW2. The other was a collection of memories of George by his friends and family, which included one from me that Glenda asked me to write a couple of months earlier.
I met George through his sister Ida, who was a very good friend of mine who lived in Gembrook opposite the Community Centre. My use of the past tense may be inappropriate. Ida is still a dear friend, but she fell victim to the sinister disease that stalks the elderly, Alzeimer's. I saw her last on Boxing Day 2005 in the aged care facility in Sale where she exists still. She didn't recognize me and is now not capable of holding a conversation. Our friedship spanned nine years and began soon after Ida's husband, whom I never met, died of a heart attack. I met and befriended many of Ida's relatives, including her sons (and their spouses from multiple marriages), her grandchildren, nieces, nephews and even some long standing family friends that visited or rang her regularly.
In Ida's case, the onset and progress of the Alzheimer's was swift and cruel, catching her family off guard, bringing the fiercely independant lady to a scenario she detested, at least till her comprehension of all things was lost, which came immediately following her removal from her home. A difficult time all round for family and friends.
We stayed at George's party for a couple of hours before heading off home with Robbie driving on L plates. His licence test was the next day which was the reason he'd accompanied us for the weekend. Some last minute driving practise in city conditions. We stayed in a motel in Coburg on Saturday night, not being able to book anything in Melbourne itself because of the U2 concert. Lib and I had dinner at our favourite Lebonese restaurant in Russell St. while Rob went his own way and met friends.
I was so pleased Lib and Rob had come with me to George's party. In one of those strange coincidences in life Lib's father Bill Meek and George had spent six years together in the same anti aircraft artillery battery in WW2, and had met up every year since at a reunion around Anzac Day, till 2000 when Bill died. It just seemed to round things off nicely that George was happy that he'd met Bill Meek's daughter, and they could talk about some of the other old soldiers who are still friends with Lib's mum. Glenda knew these men too. There are 29 left out of the 250 in the battery.
In another coincidence, one of Glenda's best friends is the student co-ordinator at Box Hill Sec. college where Robbie just completed his VCE exams.

Robbie got his licence on the Monday. An email came from Glenda. I'll copy it here because it pumps my tyres up, and we all need a bit of that now and again.

Hi Carey,
Thank you so much for coming yesterday it was lovely to see you and meet Libby and Robbie.
I had so many other things I wanted to catch up but the time just flew.
Everyone Loved the honey and the lemons thank you so much for sharing them all with us.
You are a very very special person and my whole family are indebted to you for your klindness and generosity that you showed Ida. I know she was your friend, but even our dearest loved ones can expect too much from us.
I will never ever forget what you did for her and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Good luck to Robbie with his results and best wished to you all, Glenda

I repied-

Dear Glenda,

Thanks for the kind words you said about me in your email of last Monday. My friendship with Ida was special thing that I’m so glad I experienced. We shared many interests such as books and reading, gardens and plants, footy, a Baptist background and the love of a good yarn, a laugh, a cuppa, just to name a few. Ida is ten years older than my mother but I could relate to her as a best friend. As if we were at school together, learning and sharing lessons and experience of life, working our way through the joy and the pain.

Seeing you all on Sunday brought it back to me in 3D. Thanks mate for inviting me. Ida talked of her love for her family so often and I had met so many and know so much of the family history. And of course it was good to see George again and share in his birthday. I’m so happy that Lib and Rob came with me. They are both shy but enjoyed themselves and said what a great family and bunch of people and I think learnt from the day in their own way.

Catch you again one of these days,

Carey